Tales of a Time Lady
by SilverAutumn
Summary: The Doctor has retired and passed the TARDIS down to his last companion, a young Gallifreyan (OC). When she is sent off on her own on a mission from the Council, what will become of her? (republished 12/8/02)
1. A Girl and a Police Box

Usual disclaimers apply; at the moment, the only thing in this story I own is Laurelesvanadraliana (try saying *that* ten times fast). Also, just for the record, the Time Lords never called anyone officially a Time Lady- Romana was an acolyte Time Lord, as was Susan before her. So what would happen if they *did* create one for a specific purpose? With that, here goes-let me know if you think I should keep up with it. ~Autumn~  
  
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Tales of a Time Lady  
  
  
  
Space: the final frontier.  
  
Or so it was thought. Space, however, can never be mentioned without time following shortly behind it. Contrary to popular belief, space was not the final frontier; more importantly, time was. Just now, a strange object was ricocheting through both space and time, careening off of one, bouncing into the other, and generally spinning its way through them.  
  
The object was a blue police box, circa England, 1963.  
  
Laurelesvanadraliana, better known as Laurel, stood at the helm of the TARDIS. While she could not be considered tall, the apparently twenty-six year old auburn-haired woman projected a certain assertiveness that often made strangers assume her to be taller than she actually was. Her green- grey eyes, while warm and kind, also held an authority one did not trifle with. Unlike many of her kind, she dressed in a fashion drawn from the planet Earth that actually made sense. She paired denim pants-blue jeans, she had explained to the curious Council-with a charcoal grey sweater and topped the whole thing off with a black trench coat (she had always had a weakness for Earth detective stories). Her shoes were modeled after the two- toned black-and-white wingtip shoes of the American 1920s. Finally, a cloth cap based after the British turn-of-the-century style lay, at the moment, stuffed into one of the deep pockets of her coat.  
  
She fingered the cap in her pocket. She had found it in the TARDIS wardrobe years ago, lost it (*No,* she told herself, *not lost. Misplaced.*), then found it again two days ago. The day before she left.  
  
She had left Gallifrey with much ceremony, though she knew she would never return. Not if she could help it, at least. There were too many memories.  
  
But had she taken the memories with her?  
  
The Council had been thrilled to dub her first officially named Time Lady. They had been so proud, they told her, so honored, to give her that title. but she could not help but think how shortsighted the Council was. They had the secrets of time, but they knew nothing of the troubles of the universe. Veiled in formalities, they avoided the world outside of Gallifrey while others explored. Laurel had been an acolyte Time Lord to the Doctor during his eighth regeneration, much as Romana had been to the fourth Doctor before her, and after years of journeys as a renegade, he shocked the whole of Galifrey by announcing his intention to retire. "I'm getting old," he told Laurel. "I feel much older than I look. It's time my meddling comes to an end." She had smiled at that, though she felt saddened by it; his "meddling" was what had defined him uniquely as himself all these years. Then, when she had been awarded the honor of being the first Time Lady Gallifrey had known, he had handed down the TARDIS to her. "We've seen some interesting times, the three of us. You know her better than any of my other companions ever did. Let's see the two of you off on your own," he said.  
  
The wardrobe had been cleared of the Doctor's things and replaced by an endless supply of clothing suited to her. She had found, though, hanging from the edge of the door, the cloth cap she now carried in her pocket.  
  
And so they had pushed her onwards, roaming, exploring, constantly on the move-always to report back to the Council, of course. That was why they had let her leave. How else would they continue to expand their records? That had been their main purpose in naming her Time Lady; to send her on a never- ending reconnaissance mission. They had not given her any guidelines as to where they wanted her to go. On her maiden voyage alone with the TARDIS, they had told her simply to go forth. Collect data. Report back. Continue on. Lather, rinse, repeat.  
  
Her official title had never seemed emptier to her as it did then. Navigating blindly, sadness, ambivalence, a sense of loss and of something that could never be replaced, and a strange element she identified as a relative of fear tore through her as the trusted time ship sped on through the stars.  
  
CRASH.  
  
Just then, an enormous explosion shook the TARDIS, tossing Laurel to the ground. She picked herself up, eyes flickering frantically over the TARDIS's countless monitors as another bang threw her across the console.  
  
What was going on?! 


	2. A Mind of Its Own

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the banging and crashing ceased.  
  
Bewildered, Laurel pulled herself upright and glanced at the TARDIS's controls. All the monitors held normal readings.  
  
Odd. Very odd indeed.  
  
Perhaps the ship had run into some turbulence in the space-time continuum, much as an airplane might fly into a spot of turbulence in the air. Apparently, the TARDIS had managed to fly itself out of the rough situation.  
  
Laurel fiddled with a dial on the console. Even though the trouble was seemingly over, she had to set a direct course for a specific destination, to make sure the ship was still working properly. Well, as properly as it ever could, she thought with a slight smile. The TARDIS could be a temperamental old thing sometimes.  
  
Her smile faded slightly as the TARDIS failed to obey her commands. She punched them in again and waited.  
  
The ship did not bother to register her orders.  
  
Perhaps the TARDIS hadn't flown out of the trouble spot after all.  
  
Laurel watched the console monitors helplessly as the ship continued onwards. What had happened? It took one very experienced hacker to work their way into the TARDIS's control system.  
  
The Time Lady felt the TARDIS touch down a little less gently than usual. Where had it brought her? She flipped a switch on the console, and to her relief, the TARDIS did what it was told and opened its viewing screen.  
  
It was dark outside. The ship had landed on a street corner in a city; buildings crammed closely together, some dark, some brightly lit, filled the streets. People-mostly drunk people-passed by in a continuous stream. Always eager to flaunt her skills as a chameleon, however subtly, Laurel was grimly pleased to note that her current attire blended in marvelously with the locals' wear. She glanced at the console.  
  
The TARDIS had deposited her in London at the dawn of the 21st century. Why, she didn't know; but she intended to find out. Quickly tying her hair back in two braids, Laurel tugged on her cap, opened the door, and stepped out. 


	3. London, 2003

A/N: I'm about to enter into my last week of classes before my final exams, so it might be a while before the next update-in the meantime, enjoy what's here, read & review if you feel so inclined. ~Autumn~  
  
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Slipping unseen out of the TARDIS was one of the many skills Laurel had picked up over the years, and she was now so adept at it that she appeared to have been simply walking nonchalantly down the street. Trench coat billowing, she strode towards the nearest pub. The Doctor has always told her that local gossip was one of the most valuable sources of information on most planets; she hoped she might gather some clues as to why she had been brought here. *And I *was* brought here,* she thought. *But how. and why?* A quick glance at the inside of the pub told her it was relatively safe (as far as pubs go, that is-there was always the danger of a bar brawl, but that was nothing she couldn't handle), and she entered.  
  
Laurel blinked at the sudden darkness. It was a typical London pub: dimly lit, smoky, and packed with young locals. *It must be Saturday,* Laurel mused. *Pubs are only this crowded on Saturday.* She stuck her hand in one of her coat pockets and drew out a handful of change. *Alzarius.Iceworld.Karfel. have I no Earth currency?!* she raged internally. Dropping the assorted coins back in the one pocket, she dug around in another, finally coming up with a handful of crumpled bank notes. Approaching the bar, she dropped a five pound note on the countertop. The tired-looking woman behind it looked up from cleaning a glass. "What can I get you?" she asked.  
  
"Pint of bitter, if you don't mind," Laurel replied.  
  
"Coming right up." The woman grabbed a glass, drew the foaming drink from the tap, and slid it along the counter to Laurel. "That'll be four quid."  
  
Laurel nodded at the bank note. "Keep the change," she said, picking up her glass and retreating to a table at the back of the pub. She shed her coat and laid it on the seat next to her. Keeping her hat low over her eyes, she sipped at her glass, her sharp ears picking through the smoke and noise.  
  
"So I heard that Daniel and Rachael."  
  
". couldn't help but notice."  
  
".the hell you say!."  
  
".could you believe it?."  
  
".come on, one dance."  
  
Laurel rolled her eyes as the inane chatter continued.  
  
"So anyway, Rachael said."  
  
".hate the office, fucking *hate* it."  
  
".what're you on about now?."  
  
".must stop the Masters of Time."  
  
The Time Lady straightened up, all her senses automatically going on alert at the sound of the ice-cold voice. Masters of Time? The Time Lords. she cast her eyes over the crowd, searching for the source of the words. she had heard them so clearly.the *thoughts,* they were *thoughts,* not words.  
  
"Looking for someone, love?"  
  
Laurel blinked and looked up, the thick East End accent jarring her out of her thoughts. A man in his late twenties stood before her. She examined him with narrowed eyes, taking in his longish light brown hair, blue eyes, dark green pull-over shirt, khaki pants, and black-or were they dark brown? The pub was too dim to tell-boots. Laurel drew back. "Can I help you?"  
  
The man leaned in with a cocky smile. "I thought, if you were looking for someone, that I'd better get to you before he does."  
  
"That's the worst pick-up line I've ever heard."  
  
"I don't usually need them."  
  
She arched a brow. "That so?"  
  
"Want to go someplace a bit more quiet?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, come on."  
  
"No."  
  
"A drink, then?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Not even a-"  
  
"Look, if you're trying to get a girl for the night, try someone else. Someone with an IQ below 70," Laurel said pointedly.  
  
"Ouch."  
  
"You asked for it." She turned from him, searching the crowd again. She felt out into the far corners of the room with her mind, trying desperately to find that presence she had felt before. those words, those thoughts. where were they?  
  
Gone. Laurel cursed under her breath in the language of a planet that had been all but dead for two thousand years.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
She looked up again. "You still here?"  
  
"Well, yes-"  
  
"Don't waste your breath."  
  
The man gave her an injured look. "You won't even give me a shot?"  
  
"I told you, if you're looking for a one-night stand, go find another girl."  
  
He looked at her hard. She met his gaze, unblinking. Then she stood, shrugged on her coat, and pushed past him.  
  
"Prude," he muttered.  
  
"Wanker," she tossed back at him. Then without another glance, Laurel swept out of the pub.  
  
***  
  
The streets were beginning to empty of their stumbling groups of drunken Londoners. As Laurel headed back to the TARDIS, she cursed again, damning that blue-eyed heckler in the pub for making her lose the only important thing she had found all evening. She adjusted her cap roughly, resisting the urge to kick the nearest stationary object. "Must stop the Masters of Time." she murmured under her breath. What did it mean? Stop them from what? Laurel remembered the sharp, icy voice, and a chill ran through her.  
  
Whose side was the voice's? 


End file.
